"We could get arrested for th..."
Before he could finish the sentence he was already being pulled into a dark alley. It was the middle of the night, and the only thing that allowed him to navigate through the many turns and corners was the hand that held his own. The moon was covered by dark clouds, and therefore provided the two of them with not even the smallest bit of light. The rain made everything about this night even more dreadful. The stones under his feet were slippery and he was truly surprised that he hadn't fallen on his face as of yet. Mud covered his boots as they walked through numerous puddles. And it wasn't as though he could see the filthy dirt, but he was sure that he could feel it soaking through the leather of his recently polished boots. His hair stuck to his face and he lost his hat somewhere along the way. If anyone could see him at this moment they would think that he had a swim in the river. But no, his filthy state was caused by running through the dimly lit streets of Paris at an ungodly hour.
Fortunately he didn't care about his appearance. Especially when he was with her. She had just made him break the law that he had sworn to uphold. And for some unknown reason he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't care about anything when she looked at him with that glint in her green eyes as her lips stretched into a slight smirk. He was known for being quiet and well mannered, and thinking his decisions through. Yet here he was, following his wife to god knows where, knowing well that he had to be at the palace in the early morning in a presentable state.
A few more turns, and to his surprise they were standing mere meters away from the Musketeers Garrison. She finally turned to face him. Her hair was wet just like his, but somehow looked just as beautiful as it had before they were forced to run through the rain. He scolded himself for thinking of her beauty. They had just committed a crime and could still be caught. Yet she stood there, smiling up at him. Her red dress didn't have even one dry spot, and the hem of her skirt was covered in brown mud, but she didn't seem to care. She didn't even have a cloak, which left her shoulders bare.
Her lips were slightly apart as she breathed heavily, mirroring himself. Before he could even think, his body reacted, and he found himself pushing her against the wall. Thankfully that was the moment that his mind started functioning and he held himself back from kissing her.
"We could get arrested for this."
The words came out in a whisper and made her smile.
He had to admit, he missed her smile. For the four years that he spent at war there was little time to think of her. But every night, or any time he managed to get some sleep, he would see her smile and hear her laugh. He no longer had nightmares of her covered in blood.
It was not as though he had seen her smile much before the four years of war. First he thought her dead, then they were at each other's throats, and then they were too busy dealing with Rochefort. But fortunately her smiles from the time that they spent at Pinon were still fresh in his mind. She was something he could never forget, no matter how much he tried to think of other things, or how much wine he drank.
"What for exactly?"
Her eyebrows lifted innocently as her head tilted slightly to the side. He huffed quietly as she brought her hand up to his chest.
"You know exactly what for."
She pretended to ignore him as she rose slightly on her toes and pressed her lips to his. The kiss didn't start off slowly. No, her hands were at his neck at an instant pulling him closer, forcing him to put his hand on the wall beside her shoulder to keep himself from falling. He held her firmly against the wall as his other hand slipped down the wet skin on her shoulder.
This kiss somewhat reminded him of the one they shared at the crossroads after he told her about the war and his new title as the Captain of the Musketeers. He asked her to go to England to stay away from France, and promised her that he would find her once he returned to Paris.
When four years later he returned to Paris, it was she who found him. And since then they've been together. That wasn't the word he would use to describe their relationship, which mostly consisted of meeting up somewhere to spend the night together, but he supposed that word would do for now. Usually they spent the nights in her small apartment or some inn, and sometimes even had breakfast together on his days off. But today was different.
Tonight they found themselves in some noble's house looking through his desk for proof of treason. Treville tasked him with finding out who was funding some revolutionist movement, and his wife volunteered to help. Everything was going smoothly until the valet entered the house and heard them talking. Fortunately they had enough time to grab the papers they needed before climbing out through the window. They were followed for a good part of a half of an hour.
She pulled away from the kiss and let her head fall against the wall as she continued to look up at him.
"You mean theft?"
He hummed quietly in response, confirming her guess, even though they both already knew the answer. She ran her hand down his cheek as she smirked. She then pushed him slightly away and held her hands in front of herself.
"You're the Captain of the Musketeers. Why don't you arrest me."
He lifted his eyebrow. Even if her seductive tone was making it quite tempting, he had no desire to continue whatever this was in the rain in the middle of the street.
"I think we both have bad memories of the last time you were being arrested."
The last time he had her arrested was anything but pleasant for either of them. He still hated himself for listening to Catherine back then. He could have given his wife a fair trial, he could have at least asked for her side of the story. But he had been angry, and broken. And because of his own destructive feelings that he didn't know how to deal with he almost killed his wife.
For a second he thought she would slap him and leave him there, but she simply let her hands fall down to her side as she stepped closer to him.
"Then perhaps we should make new memories?"
He tilted his head slightly and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, taking both of her hands in his.
"I have a better idea. A warm bath, and a good bottle of wine."
She stared at him for a while, most likely weighing up the two options. Then she let out a heavy breath.
"I can't decide if you're truly tired and cold or you're simply boring."
Not giving him a chance to reply she slipped away from his grasp with a quick glance at him and ran up to the Garrison. He rolled his eyes and followed her, running through the street like a fool.
He didn't care that they looked like fools. He was no longer young as he had been when they met. But sneaking with her in the night, running through dark alleys, and kissing in empty streets made him feel young again. She made him forget about his duties, propriety, and other people's opinions. He didn't have to be the Captain of the Musketeers, or the Comte de la Fere. Nothing mattered when he was with her. Even getting arrested, because he knew she could get him out of prison.